It's not easy being green
by Xayian
Summary: Dean's first day in high school. Follows After The Storm.


AN: Hello, all. I'm back. This isn't much, just glimpse into Dean's life in the NCIS world. Don't judge it too harshly.

* * *

The thunder of feet connecting with linoleum surrounds him as the continuous wave of voices bombards his ears. The the gunfire bang of metal doors unsettles the nerves and the grip on an army green strap tightens. With each passing body the boy is bumped and jostled and he thinks Dr Cranston is Satan in disguised.

Dean Winchester hates high school already and if the yoyo inspector hadn't strongly _"_ suggested" he attend high school he'd be happily continuing on with home schooling like he had wanted.

Dean takes a slow deep breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. He can do this.

Stepping to the side and out of the flow of hormonal traffic, Dean waits for the herd to thin. With the ringing of the final bell and the closing of a door, Dean loosens the grip he has on his backpack and glances down at the wrinkled sheet of paper in his hand. Room 211, Computer Programming.

It's been almost 3 years since he walked down the halls of a school. Everyone was shorter then. Carried less books. Looked more innocent. The kids are taller now and carry more books, but they still look innocent.

He had absolutely no idea how he was going to fit in.

The social dynamics alone were going to be a hurdle. Dean had spent most of the last few years in the company of bounty hunters, bail bondsmen, criminals and snitches. He vary rarely had an opportunity to mix with kids his own age – those few being kids whose parents were in the business – and if his last teen socialization experience was anything to go by, he was doomed to fail. Add on the fact that the placement test he took (it'd been harder than he'd expected) had him starting the school year out as a freshman instead of as a sophomore – yeah...doomed. So much for the merits of homeschooling. Dean sighed and continued down the hall.

The lockers are painted blue, the layers of older paint reveled in the occasional chip and nick. Fliers promoting the Spanish club, drama club, robotics and more line the walls along with banners, splashed with a variety of colors and sequence by an over zealous teen, welcoming students back to school.

Dean glanced into each classroom as he passed. Narrow windows in the doors reveled students settling as each teacher appeared to take attendance. Room 211 was at the end of the hall on the right. Dean stepped to the door and peered through the window. The teacher – Ms. Davis according to the sheet he held – stood behind her desk as she drew her finger across the notebook set before her; placing a mark on the notebook as she called out names of students.

Dean took a moment to study her. Ms. Davis wore her black hair short and natural, held back with a thin green scarf knotted behind her ear and trailing over her shoulder to blend in with a matching blouse. Her skirt was full length and black like the pair of reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose. That alone told Dean she was probably older than she looked and the ease with which she held herself spoke of years of experience. He hoped she was past the bleeding heart stage of her career. The last thing he needed was to become a pet project.

Dean shoved his schedule into the pocket of his jean jacket then pulled a small flask shaped plastic bottle out of the compartment inside his jacket created by that same pocket. Unscrewing the cap and bringing it to his lips, Dean coughed as the quick sip he took burned down his throat.

Keeping his drinking a secret from a criminal investigator like Leroy Jethro Gibbs hasn't been easy especially since he started seeing Dr. Cranston and she put him on some antidepressants. He hadn't liked the idea of taking the pills and had been flushing them daily. He'd much preferred the John Winchester, and apparently Gibbs, mode of coping with depression and stress. He's fairly sure that he would have been caught by now if he drank more than the occasional sip to get through the day. The cinnamon gum he chewed all the time and the fact that Gibbs' seemed more...well he wasn't quite sure but it didn't hurt either.

He screwed the cap back on and tucked the bottle back into his jacket. Taking a fortifying breath and popping a fresh stick of gum into his mouth, Dean opened the door and stepped into class. Keeping his head down, he ignored any glances shot his way by his abrupt entrance and made his way to an empty terminal at the back of the class.

"Dean Winchester?"

Dean raised his hand in response and Ms. Davis marked him present. He supposed if there was one good thing about having to go through the toils of the ninth grade at 15 – almost 16 – at a school near a military base was that he wouldn't be the only new kid and wouldn't stand out as such.

The class went by as he supposed most classes did. He didn't think he needed to take computer programming considering he learned the basics on his own and acquired some rudimentary hacking skills in the process of helping his Uncle John hunt down bail jumpers, but he supposed he could learn a bit more. The class was also relaxing thanks to the frequent gestures of his teacher. She wasn't one to keep still as she talked and the back and forth sway of green swathed arms and the soft cadence of her silvery voice was enough to distract Dean's mind from things he'd rather not think about. He was also thankful that Ms. Davis was more interested in lecturing to take an interest in him and the class was a piece of cake. That, unfortunately, was the only class that was a piece of cake. He hadn't really realized how much he was lacking in his education until he had gone to half the classes. Suddenly socialization was the least of his worries.

By lunch Dean had a size 20 headache and a journal full of disjointed notes to go through. He'd had a hell of a time focusing on anything the teachers had to say and if he hadn't promised to try this whole school gig – as if the Doc had given him any choice 'You need to get out there, Dean' – he would ditch the rest of the day and head back to Gibbs' house to borrow his rifle for some much needed target practice.

Dean headed outside to the athletic field and found a secluded spot under the bleachers. Even though there was no need to, old habits died hard and keeping himself below the radar was a habit he didn't feel like breaking. Taking a look around, Dean noted that he had the area to himself, most if not all the students choosing to eat in the cafeteria this lunch period. He uncapped a bottle of cola he had bought from the vending machine and poured a fourth of it out and replaced the liquid with the whiskey from the small bottle he carried. He recapped the bottle and flipped it a couple times to mix it then uncapped the soda again to take a drink.

Dean could feel a slight buzz starting as the alcohol began to work through his system. He knew it was a bad idea but now that he had some down time there was nothing to keep his mind from wandering to things better left in the dark recesses of his mind. It's been almost eight months since his encounter with Paloma Reynosa. Eight months since she took a knife to his chest and two months since his last surgery to fix the scarred tissue she left behind and _still_ every moment burns through his mind like it was yesterday.

Dr. Cranston keeps trying to get him to talk about it and sometimes Gibbs does to. He prefers not to talk at all. He remembers one time about a month ago where he came close. He walked into the kitchen to find Gibbs cutting up some beef for a stew he was making. The chunks of meat dripped a deep red, blood soaking into the chopping board as Gibbs sliced them into small squares with the carving knife. The knife gliding through the meat in a movement that looked like it took forever and in an instant he was back in that room in Mexico with his arms strapped to a chair watching helplessly as a cold steel blade pierced his chest. He hadn't even realize that he was holding his breath until Gibbs had gotten his attention by blocking his view. He'd startled and stared up at Gibbs with a wide eyed gasp.

Dean had squeezed his eyes shut as he curled in on himself and gripped his chest. Gibbs, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him in, wrapped Dean in his arms and held him tight. It was the first time since Gibbs had pulled him out of Mexico that Dean had allowed this man, who wanted very much for Dean to see him as a father, to comfort him. He'd dug his hands into Gibbs shirt and didn't let go for a long while.

He hasn't broken down and let those feeling loose since then, as much as Dr. Cranston and Gibbs would have liked him to. He had, though, started drinking. Getting the liquor wasn't very hard. He had always been good at stealing things. One of John's skip trace buddies had seen to that. So whenever Gibbs went in to talk to Dr. Cranston after one of his appointments he would walk into the drug store across the street and come out with a large bag of peanut M&Ms and two miniature bottles of Jack which he hid, once he got outside, inside the bag of candy he'd bought.

Dean finished his lunch and checked the time. Five minutes until his next class. He gathered up his trash and stood up and nearly toppled over. Perhaps drinking the whole soda full of whiskey hadn't been a great idea. Taking a couple deep breaths to center himself, Dean found his balance and started walking, slower than he typically would, and made his way towards the building. Health class was next and if he were lucky the teacher would show a movie and he could catch a couple winks.

* * *

"Hey?"

Dean feels a nudge on his shoulder and cracks open his eyes.

"Dude, are you drunk?" The blonde girl in the seat next to him is leaning close to the desk as she whispers the question. The corner of her mouth turned up in an almost grin and her eyes are wide with disbelief.

Dean's arms are crossed and he's slumped in his chair with his chin resting on his chest. He counts his blessings that they're in the back of the class and no one seems to be paying any attention to them. The room is dark but there's enough light from the television up front for him to see that Coach McKinney has his nose buried in some book and, based on the clock on the wall, it's only a quarter after the hour and two minutes since he'd fallen asleep.

"I can totally smell the liquor from here and your eyes were looking a little on the red side last I checked." The girl, Allie Parker the Coach had called her, let her mouth curve up into a full grin.

Dean tilted his head toward her and sighed. Keeping his voice low he replied. "I'm not drunk, I'm just resting my eyes."

"Whatever, Van Winkle," she chuckles. Keeping her voice down, she asks, "Want some eye drops? They're allergy but they should clear up your I'm-not-drunk-eyes. I don't know what you're going to do about the smell though."

Dean pulls out his pack of gum and pops a piece into his mouth. He's balling up the wrapper when the aforementioned eye-drops get shoved into his face an inch from his nose. He raises his eyebrow at Allie and receives one in return. The grin is still there and doesn't look like it's going anywhere anytime soon. He takes the small bottle from her with a mumbled thanks and drops a couple into each eye then gives it back. Allie is still watching him when he's done wiping the stray drops away.

" _What?_ ' he hisses.

"Well, it's the first day of school and you're already wasted during the school day. Most kids would have waited until at least the end of the first semester before drowning their brain cells. What happened? Did your dog die or something?"

"No, my pops did," Dean replies before he can think better of it. His crossed arms are almost a hug as he slouches a little lower in his seat. He thinks to himself that drinking at school may not have been one of his brighter ideas if a loose tongue is what it gets him.

"Sorry. I was just messing with you. That really sucks about your dad." Allie's grin is gone when he glances over from the corner of his eye. Her brow is furrowed and she's biting her bottom lip as she stares at the book on her desk. It's when she starts picking at the eraser on her pencil Dean feels inexplicably sorry for making her feel bad and feels like he should try to clarify.

"Actually he was my uncle."

"Still sucks."

"Yeah."

The teens are quiet for the rest of class.

By the time the video is over twenty minutes later Dean's buzz from lunch is partially gone. All he'd been able to think about is the fact that he'd shared info with a perfect stranger and he wasn't sure he could completely blame it on the alcohol. Opening up his notebook he starts doodling in an attempt to redirect his thoughts. Before he knows it the bell is ringing and the other kids in the class are leaving amongst a chorus of shifting desks and chatter.

Tucking his notebook in his bag, Dean glances up to see that Allie hasn't left yet and appears to be waiting on him.

"What class do you have this period?" she asks.

Dean's perplexed and his face reflects it as he shoulders his bag and starts walking towards the door. Allie starts walking with him between the desks as they make their way towards the exit and a second glance shows the expectant look on her face.

They both stop at the door. Dean hesitates to enter the hallway as he has at the end of every period and watches the flow of bodies as students make their way to their respective classes. He has no desire to jump into the stream of traffic and realizes that he's not going to get away without answering.

"Spanish I."

"Dude, seriously?" Allie's grin has returned. "That's my next class."

Dean's shoulders drop and he sighs in resignation. One of his goals for school was to keep to himself and that plan appears to be failing. The five foot four inch blonde with the long ponytail continues to smile as she stares at him, glances out at the hallway then returns her eyes to him. When it's clear that Dean has no intention of moving, Allie takes a hold of his arm and pulls him out into the bustle of teens.

"Come on, toasted-oats. Class is awaiting."

Allie pulls Dean along and completely ignores the indignant look he throws her way. Not for the first time, and at this rate definitely not the last time, Dean sighs and allows her to pull him along and can't for the life of him figure out why he's letting her do it.

Spanish class is as breezy as he figured it would be. At least focusing in this class isn't as hard as the previous classes had been. Except for the fact that Allie chose to sit next to him, he considers it a great choice on his part in selecting a class he doesn't have to work very hard in. Which was all well and good if his teacher was able to say half the words correctly. But he supposes she really couldn't help it considering she had a very thick Boston accent. It's not his fault that he was subconsciously correcting her. Fortunately Mrs. Mitchell is guileless enough that, whenever she catches him mumbling the proper pronunciation, she believes him when he says he's just practicing his own pronunciation.

Dean works hard to keep his mouth shut after that and again, probably not for the last time, contemplates the wisdom of drinking more than his typical sip during school hours. He starts to nod off again. Fortunately(not) Allie makes sure he stays awake by utilizing the occasional nudge or clearing of her throat. By the end of class she's collected a handful of peppermints, cure for all that ails you, from Mrs. Mitchell.

"Dude!" Dean receives a backhanded smack on the arm to accompany the exclamation and rubs the offended area. There's that grin again. Gaping mouth this time. "You can speak Spanish, why are you taking Spanish I?"

"It's not like I'm fluent," Dean mutters. Dean and Allie are walking towards the student lounge and he isn't quite sure if he's lucky or not that he and Allie also share a free period together though he's leaning towards the not. They've know each other for two hours and aside from that solemn moment in Health class she's been riding a cheery teenage high that completely flabbergasts him.

"Whatever," Allie dismisses his comment with a wave of her hand. "You speak enough not to be in Spanish I. So why are you taking it?"

"Same reason you take English class even though you speak English."

"Huh?"

"Grammar and spelling?"

"What about it?"

"It's an easy A for me. Besides, just because you can speak a language doesn't mean you use it properly. I only ever really learned how to speak it and that's mostly slang. And I can read a menu..." Dean glances over and lets his words trail off. Allie is grinning again only this time she looks like she's trying not to laugh. Dean rolls his eyes and sighs, this time annoyed. "You're fucking with me aren't you?"

"Only because I'm doing a sigh count. I'm mentally categorizing them for future conversations in our budding friendship."

"Who says we're going to be friends?" Dean replies sitting down on the carpet by a window. The student lounge was actually more of an open common area that housed a couple of vending machines and the book store. Students hung out there during their free period or passed through on their way to class. The few benches that were present were already occupied by other kids and the only open spot out of the flow of walking traffic was the window looking out onto a courtyard.

Allie glanced at him from where she sat on his left. She clasped her hands in her lap and crossed her legs at the ankle. He could swear that this time her grin came with a twinkle in her eye. "We are so going to be friends."

"No. We're not," Dean huffs. He crosses his arms and scowls.

"Yeah we are."

"Let me rephrase my question, _why_ do you think we're going to be friends?"

"Well, it's obvious really."

"How's that?"

"I sat down first."

" _What?_ " Dean looks at where they're sitting and his proximity next to Allie. He closes his eyes and groans as it hits him.

"Guess I'll be adding the groan to my category chart." Allie starts laughing as Dean grabs his head. It's the first day of school, his plan to keep to himself is failing spectacularly, and he's not sure if the growing headache he has is from the alcohol or Allie. He hates high school.

* * *

Fifteen minutes and Dean knew more than he wanted to about the school's hierarchy which, factually, wasn't much. He worked really hard to tune Allie out. What he did know was that no amount of grunting, frowning, sighing or groaning and outright ignoring her was going to deter her. That and she was adding the grunting and frowning to her so called mental "category chart."

Dean looks at his watch and gets up, shouldering his bag as he did and Allie quickly joins him. "Where are we going?"

"None of your business," he replied, heading towards the front hall. If the nonverbal signals weren't giving her a clue maybe being outright rude would work.

"Fine. I'll just follow you then." Dean sighs. So much for that idea.

"Don't you have friends you could be talking to?" Dean scowls.

"I'm workin' on it."

"I mean other friends?" Dean stops and turns to her, forcing Allie to stop before she bumps into him.

"They're in class." Allie is still smiling and it irritates him to no end that it doesn't bother him like he feels it should. "Besides, you still need to give me your number so I can call you for help with our Health and Spanish homework."

"I never said I would help you," Dean points his finger at her to emphasize the point then continues walking.

"Yeah you did. It was grunt, category 2. The affirmation."

Dean growls in frustration and walks faster. Maybe he _should_ have paid a little more attention to what she had been saying.

They enter the main office, walk past the secretary's desk and stop in front of a door with a couple of chairs in front of it. Allie glances at the name on the window and her eyes widen as she points to the door. "Dude, you're here to see Mrs. Sumner?"

"Yeah. So?" Dean shifts a little uncomfortably.

"She's the freshman councilor?"

"And I'm a freshman." Now Dean's just getting annoyed. Well _more_ annoyed.

"But you look like you're 15 or 16. I thought we were like – both sophomores."

"I _am_ 15\. I guess this means you don't want to hang with me then?" He can't fully hide the ray of hope that sparks at the thought.

"Dude, it means you may become my new best friend. I always wanted someone to mentor." Dean sees nothing but teeth as he rolls his head away from her and turns to knock on the door...and is promptly stopped from doing so as Allie blocks his hand with her own. " _What?_ " If Allie hears the slight whine in his voice, she doesn't acknowledge it.

"I just want to put forth a scenario for you." Allie looks back to make sure no one is close by and lowers her voice. "You're about to sit three feet away from the school counselor in an in-closed space with booze breath inadequately camouflaged by a stick of cinnamon flavored gum. Do you really think she's not going to be able to tell that you've been drinking? Trust me," Allie nods for emphasis, "she's gonna know."

Dean scowls and cups his hand over his mouth so he can get a good whiff of his own breath. Yep, there it is. He rubs his hand up his face and through his hair before dropping it at his side. He drops his head back and closes his eyes as he slumps his shoulders.

"Well, Sherlock," Dean replies at a volume to match hers, "what do you suggest I do? She's gonna wanna know why I didn't show. What am I supposed to tell her?"

"Dude, seriously? Just tell her you forgot. It's not rocket science."

"And that'll work?" Dean looks doubtful.

"You're a teenager. There are certain expectations that must be upheld," Allie replies in all seriousness.

"I don't know..."

"For someone who's willing to drink at school, you sure are failing at the whole 'working around the consequences' thing. Exactly what did they teach you in your last school?"

"I was home-schooled the last few years. Most of the adults I hung around could have cared less if I drank or not."

"Oh, my young padewan, I have much to teach you." Allie drapes her arm over Dean's shoulders and guides him back out of the office. "In the meantime, you're gonna have to tell me all about the exciting life of homeschooling."

"No. I don't," Dean grumbles.

"I'm noticing a theme here, my friend."

"We're not friends."

"You just keep telling yourself that, amigo."

Allie and Dean take a seat at the top of the bleachers in the school's empty gym. Dean didn't know why he was going along with Allie. He was clearheaded enough now that he couldn't blame it on the alcohol. Mostly anyway. He supposed it was because she didn't know. Know about what happened to him, his family, how he was raised and he wasn't about to ruin it by telling her more about himself. He was so glad she hasn't asked questions.

"So tell me about yourself, Dean-o."

He spoke to soon. Why did he tell her he was homeschooled. Oh yeah, alcohol.

Allie crosses her arms over her knees as she leans forward and gives Dean her undivided attention. Dean crosses his own arms over his chest and leans back against the wall. He was not going to have this conversation.

"I don't want to talk about it. And don't call me 'Dean-o.'"

"Come on, _Dean_. What's the big deal? Was your life before high school really that bad?" Allie pauses for a second and thinks about what she asked and watches Dean's scowl grow deeper. "On second thought, don't answer that question. How about we just play twenty questions?"

"What is with you!?" Allie startles at the heat in Dean's voice and sits up straighter. "Why do you care so much about us being friends? You don't know me? You don't know _anything_ about me and I have no plans on telling you so just leave me alone."

Dean gets up and starts down the stairs. His feet come down heavily on the bleachers, each loud bang shaking the wooden planks and the metal framework that holds them.

"My brother died a couple of years ago." Dean is halfway down when he hears her. He pauses and looks back, not sure what to make of her revelation. "They said he committed suicide but I don't believe it. He wouldn't have left me like that." Allie looks down and starts picking at a loose thread at the seam by her knee then lifts her eyes back up to look at him. "You kind of remind me him."

Allie stays quiet for once and just stares at Dean.

"I'm sorry, Allie, but I'm not your brother."

"I know. I'm sorry to. It's just...It's just what if I was wrong?" Allie drew her brows together and Dean could see in her eyes the fear she had been successfully keeping to herself now laid bare. The weight of what he saw curled tight around his heart and took root in his stomach. Dean didn't realize he had been that transparent. He supposed she was right to be concerned but she was wrong to.

Dean looked down in thought, _really_ thought about what she was implying and though he was tired, he wasn't ready to just lie down and give up either. Dean looked up at her with determination, "I'm not your brother. I just...I'm not your brother, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay." Dean walks back up and takes his seat again. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

"Seen any good movies?" Allie smiled.

"Do old westerns count?" Dean smiled back and for the first time he was able to just let go and breath. The weight of what happened to him was still there but for once it wasn't in quite as much control.

* * *

Just sitting and talking about mundane things had helped Dean considerably allowing him to be able to focus on his last class a bit better. By the time the final bell rang, Dean was relaxed and, with the exception of his association with Allie, happy in his anonymity.

He packed up his stuff and shouldered his bag then joined the flow of students in the hall and, unlike the hurrying bodies of those eager to leave, took his time as he made his way to the front of the school. All in all, despite the rocky start, it turned out not to be too much of a bad day.

Dean pushed his way through the front doors and moved to sit at a stone bench on the grassy surface of the quad, dropping his backpack next to him. The buses were getting ready to move out and most of the walkers that weren't lingering had already started the trek home. Pulling his feet up and crossing his legs, he turns and pulls an iPod from the side pocket of his bag. He's about to hit play when someone plops down beside him.

"Hey there, stranger. Long time no see." Allie and her ever present grin – he swears the smile has a life of it's own – drops her bag at her feet and crosses her legs as she makes herself comfortable practically on top of him.

"It's only been an hour. Don't you have to get home?" Dean furrows his brows and squints as he turns his head. The mid-afternoon sun is reflecting off the bus windows and into his eyes so Dean plucks the aviator sunglasses off Allie's face and props them on his own.

"Do you have no respect for other people's property?"

"Do you have no respect for other people's personal space?"

"Touché, mi amigo," Allie replies as she tilts her head to the side in acknowledgment then raises her index finger continuing as if she were about to make a point. "As to your your original question, I usually walk home but my mom's picking me up 'cause I gots a doctor appointment to get to. Cross country tryouts are coming up and I's needs ma physical."

"Dude, your grasp of the English language is amazing." Dean deadpans. "I thought I was the designated drinker."

"Call it an alcoholic contact high, if you will," she replies as she leans over and takes a sniff of Dean.

Dean stiffens and his eyebrows rise above the rims of the glasses in worry. Allie gets a subtle glimpse of wide eyes through the lenses and starts laughing, and his minor freak out turns to annoyance. "That's not funny."

"Oh, it's hella funny," she snorts and Dean huffs out his frustration at her antics.

"Seriously, though. Do I smell?" Dean's nervousness returns. He's fairly sure that even though Gibbs has yet to be mad at him about anything he'd sure as hell would be mad about this. Especially considering how much Gibbs and John had in common.

"Don't worry, Homer. You're secret is safe with me." Dean pops his last two sticks of gum into his mouth just in case anyway.

"Homer?"

"Ya know? Homer Simpson? Father of Bart?" At Dean's blank stare she adds, "The animated yellow fellow that's always mad about something and likes to drink?"

"Don't know him." Allie smacks him on the arm. Hard. "What the hell!?"

"I have _got_ to introduce you to The Simpsons."

Dean rubs his arm, shakes his head at her and wonders how he's going to survive high school if she's an example of a typical teen. He'll have to study adolescent behavior and thinks that he could probably convince Gibbs to let him hang out at work so he could observe DiNozzo.

"So, did you hear?" Allie had that eager glint in her eye that Dean was beginning to recognize so he stuck his iPod back in his pack. No music today.

"Hear what?"

"Dude, everyone is talking about it."

Dean looks up and realizes for the first time that all those lingering students are talking excitedly on the left side of the quad facing the direction where the athletic building was situated. "They were removing the old furnace in the athletic building around back and they found a dead body."

"Seriously? How do you know?" Dean's curiosity was officially piqued.

"I saw some of the guys who found it making a break for it out the building hollering about a dead guy. Wanna go see if we can catch a peek?"

Dean didn't think it was a good idea but it looked like Allie would go regardless of what he said. He'd seen his own fair share of dead bodies and it bothered the hell out of him so he knew that as much as Allie may think she could handle it, if she actually saw a body, it would probably give her nightmares.

Dean checks his watch. Gibbs is supposed to pick him up in the next twenty minutes. Plenty of time to head to the back of the school and do the obligatory gawk.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You can't exactly _un_ -see a dead body."

"Morbid curiosity demands that we check it out," Allie grins. "Besides, it'll be prep for when I eventually go to medical school."

"Seeing a stiff in medical school and seeing one fresh off a crime scene aren't exactly the same thing," Dean replies as he follows her around the building. Teachers were trying to corral the students who were already there while trying to get a peak themselves. If Dean weren't already anxious about what he was letting Allie do he'd laugh.

Allie led them to the right behind the building where the dumpsters, enclosed on three sides by brick and fronted by a wooden gate, stood off to the side. No one saw them slip into the short passage between the enclosure for the dumpsters and the building.

Allie sat down and made herself comfortable against the building just before the end of the passage and Dean joined her. From where they sat they had an unobstructed view of what was going on and they were far enough that the police probably wouldn't bother them for watching.

Dean hears a crackle and glances over to see Allie opening a large bag of chips. "Seriously?" he arches a brow in disbelief. "Did you just pull that out of your backpack?" He chews his gum and looks at her pack speculatively and can't for the life of him figure out how the chips could have fit in there, with the amount of books she had, without popping.

Instead of answering, Allie pops a chip into her mouth and offers him one. Dean sighs, shifts the sunglasses to the top of his head, then shrugs his shoulders. When in Rome. He takes out his gum then pulls a couple chips from the bag and turns back to the scene before them. Finishing the chips he pops his gum back in and for the next ten minutes, nothing much happens. Police standing around interviewing men in hardhats and flannel, and blocking off the area with crime scene tape did not make for much excitement.

"You do realize that it could be a while before anything happens, right?" He blows a bubble and pops it with his front teeth. "What time are you getting picked up?"

"Not for another 15 minutes. Now shut up, we got incoming," Allie gestures to the drive.

Dean glances to where she's pointing and sees a gray sedan pull up followed by a couple vans with the NCIS logo on them. He sighs when he sees a middle aged, gray-haired man step out of the sedan, flip phone in hand.

"What?" Allie glances at him then back at the newcomers. Before he can answer, his cell phone starts to ring and he pulls it out of the side pocket on his pack. The man looks up at the sound, exhibiting extraordinarily good hearing, and closes the phone. Dean's phone stops ringing.

Allie looks at Dean's phone then looks at the now approaching man. "Do you...know him?"

"That would be Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Dean pauses. He's never talked to anyone about Gibbs who didn't already know him. Gibbs himself hasn't insisted on Dean calling him anything other than Jethro. So now that he finds himself presented with this situation he doesn't know how to refer to Gibbs to his new found – okay, he'll acknowledge that Allie has grown on him – friend. Technically, yes, Gibbs is his father, but he hasn't even known him a year and isn't quiet ready to refer to him as such without feeling like he's betraying his Uncle John's memory, and isn't sure if he ever will be at this stage. That being said, he decides to stick to the facts. "I've been living with him since my uncle died."

Allie's only response was the crunch of another chip.

Dean stands as the man draws near and Allie scrambles to join him, chip bag in hand. She checks out this Agent Gibbs, Leroy Jethro with the NCIS ball cap and jacket, and wonders if he and Dean are related and wouldn't be surprised if they were. The ears, the shape of the face, the nose. Yeah, she thinks, definitely related.

When he gets to them, he stops, glances at Allie then back at Dean. "Hey."

"Hey."

Dean and Gibbs both sigh and shift their feet. Clearly feeling awkward around the new variable that is Allie. Gibbs is unsure of whether to introduce himself or wait for Dean to do the introductions. Though he's fairly sure he shouldn't hold his breath waiting on the later to happen. Not that he thinks Dean is rude or anything. It's just, for the time he's known him, the young man had shown no interest in mingling with other teens and is sure that Dean hasn't had any friends his own age in quiet awhile and wouldn't be comfortable doing it. So when Allie speaks into the uncomfortable silence that has developed, he takes the opening.

"Monosyllabic words and sighs. You guys are related aren't you?" Allie pops a chip in her mouth.

"Jethro Gibbs," he introduces himself, shaking her chip greased hand without hesitation.

"Allie Parker."

"You a friend of Dean's, Allie Parker?"

"Not just his friend," she grins as she pulls out another chip, "his soon to be BFF."

Allie takes a bite of her chip with a crunch. Dean rolls his eyes and Gibbs let's the corner of his mouth quirk up at Dean's reaction and the fact that Allie wasn't deterred in the slightest by it.

Gibbs had been worried about how Dean's first day at school would go because he had been nervous. He hadn't said anything but Gibbs could tell by how much gum he'd been chewing. The kid had taken to doing that the past couple months and it was always when something was bothering him or he didn't know how to deal with something. Even now Dean was chewing some and his breath carried an even stronger smell of cinnamon than it usually did with a hint of something else he wasn't of a mind to place.

He could only imagine that it must have been a rougher first day than he thought or Dean was anxious about a possible friendship with this girl Allie. He hopped it was the latter. Dean could really use a friend his age. Get some semblance of normal in his life.

"I won't be able to take you home right now," he gestures behind him, "so Abby said she'd swing by and get you. She was right behind us so she should be here soon. Okay?"

Crunch.

They glance at Allie with the matching look of a single arched eyebrow and she offers the bag. Gibbs helps himself to a couple chips and echos the crunch as he turns back to his son with a smile and sees Dean's patiently annoyed face as he pops a gum bubble in his mouth.

"Okay," Dean answers.

"Okay. Nice to meet you Allie." Knowing not to push his interpersonal luck with Dean, Gibbs nods then heads back to his crime scene. He doesn't want to take any more of their time. The more Dean has with someone his age, the better.

"Ni'e oo mee' you oo, Mr. Gibbs," Allie replies, mouth full of chips. Gibbs glances back with a smile then continues on.

"You couldn't swallow that first? Chips are falling out of your mouth."

"It's one of my more attractive qualities. What?" Allie stuffs more in her mouth. "Ou don tink toe?"

"Something's wrong with you." Dean quirks his brow and tucks his gum in his check. The urge to laugh rises but he squashes it. He will not encourage her.

"Hey, do you think we can get a look inside? Ya know? Exploit your 'contact'?"

"Seriously wrong with you." Dean shakes his head and picks up his backpack. "Come on. If Jethro and his team are just getting here, they're going to be awhile. We might as well wait out front for our rides."

With the crackle of bag, Allie grabs her pack, snatches her sunglasses off Dean's head and puts them on, then links her arm with Dean. "Come on, kemosabe."

"I need a drink," he replies as she drags him to the front.

"You need a friend," she smiles.

Dean huffs and starts to take longer strides. The sudden increase in speed forces Allie to let go as her pack slips off her shoulder. She catches it before it can fall too far then hops into a jog to make up the few extra steps to catch up with Dean.

"Your rudeness will not deter me, Winchester. I have the patience of a Buddhist monk and the determination of a Siberian tiger."

"More like a harpy," he mumbles.

"So, how are you guys related?"

"What makes you think we're related?" Dean grumbles, glancing over at her as they return to the bench they had previously abandoned.

Allie slings her pack off her shoulder and drops it on the bench, chips on top, and places her loosely fisted hands upon her hips. "Dude, except for your eye color, you look almost exactly alike."

Dean shifts uncomfortably and Allie's eyes widen as something dawns on her. "Is he your _dad?_ "

And there it is.

Dean hunches his shoulders. Even though the question was an easy one to answer, the idea of even discussing his parentage was daunting for the simple fact that it will inevitably lead to questions that he has no desire to answer.

"I just met him a few months ago," he finally, quietly, confesses.

Allie drops her arms to her side and sits down next to Dean as her expression turns thoughtful. "Huh. That explains it."

Allie picks her chip bag up, pulls a couple out and pops them in her mouth. Dean's brow furrows in confusion as he simply stares at her. She glances at him and offers the bag with a raised eyebrow and he shakes his head in befuddlement. Allie smiles as she takes another chip with a crunch and returns to chewing. Of all the - admittedly few - outcomes he could imagine, the nonchalance coming from Allie was not it. He had assumed that she would judge him for having an atypical family, and not much of one, but she didn't seem to be bothered by it.

In truth, Allie simply knew when to leave well enough alone. She felt she had Dean's number and a social butterfly he was not. It wasn't hard to figure out that Dean had little to no experience socializing with people his age. So her nontraditional approach of nagging him for information without pushing for details while at the same time letting him know that anything he said wasn't going to reflect how she treated him was the way to go. Not something your average teen would do but it was how she'd been with her brother.

"That explains it?" Dean gapes. "That's all you have to say?"

Allie glances back over to Dean's still confused face and in acknowledgment of said confusion simply states, "Is that all _you_ have to say?"

Dean snaps his mouth closed and directs an irritated eye at Allie.

"I told you. You remind me of my brother." She takes another chip from the bag and is about to take a bite when the chip is intercepted. "Hey!"

Dean sticks the stolen chip into his mouth and proceeds to chew on it, mouth open. Allie grins, "And you say that there's something wrong with me."

The teens turn their heads at the rumble of a 1931 Ford Coupe cherry red hot rod coming up the street. Abby has arrived and Dean pops his gum back in his mouth then hops up and grabs his stuff before she can pull to the curb and get out. He's already had one awkward intro today and the last thing he needs is for one inquisitive hyper adult to meet a not completely annoying inquisitive teen. It would be like being trapped between two Jack Russel terriers and he didn't think he had the energy for that.

* * *

Abby Sciuto scans the front of the school for Dean as she waits for the teenagers to cross in front of her and almost misses him. Considering Dean's propensity to keep to himself she was considerably surprised to see him sitting with another kid. A girl about his age to be more precise. Abby scrunches up her shoulders and smiles as she pulls out her camera form her purse and takes a picture. She then takes out her cell phone as she slows down and pulls to the curb across from where Dean was getting up to stand. She takes another shot with her cell then proceeds to send an excited text to Gibbs - _Dean's got a friend!_ She isn't phased at all when Dean drops his shoulders after witnessing her take the picture and starts to walk toward the car.

* * *

"Wait!" Allie jumps up and starts to follow him.

"Dude," Dean halts and holds his hand out stopping Allie in her tracks a few feet from him. "The last thing I need is you and Abby meeting."

Allie shifts her gaze from Dean to the car now parked at the curb then back to Dean and starts to smile. "Then I guess you should give me your number so I can call you later."

"No way."

"Then I _guess_ I'm about to make a new friend," she replies as she moves to walk past Dean.

"Okay! Okay!" Dean grabs Allie's arm and swings her around escorting the grinning girl back to the bench. Allie reaches into the side pocket of her bag then hands Dean her phone. With an exaggerated sigh he programs in his number and tosses it back to Allie. He doesn't wait to see if she catches it as he quickly turns – not stomping – away.

"See you tomorrow, Dean!"

Dean ignores Allie as he reaches Abby's car and gets in before she can even consider shutting off the engine. He would have slammed the door shut if he didn't have a high appreciation for the classic car, but the firm, controlled manner in which he closed it was enough indication to Abby that he was extremely annoyed.

Abby looks at the scowl on Dean's face then glances out the window at the grinning – is that a smirk of triumph? – girl standing a few yards away and smiles.

When they don't immediately start driving Dean glances over and can't help but groan at the expectant look on Abby's face. His only thought as Abby pulls away from the curb is how he's out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"First day of school and you've already got a girlfriend?" Abby's grin grows bigger with the thought. "Tell me all about her."

Dean frowns and considers not saying anything. Of all of Gibbs friends, coworkers, whatever, he's met she has always been the easiest and most tolerant of his moods. Even if she tried to hug him. A lot. Abby was the big sister he never had. Never judging him and always trying to cheer him up even when she knew it was sometimes a losing battle. Persistent. Tenacious. _Annoying_.

And then it hit him. Why, despite his continued aggravation with Allie, he hadn't succeeded in pushing the other teen away. Deep down he hadn't wanted to. Because no matter how he looked at it, Allie reminded him of Abby and for the first time since Dr Cranston had suggested he go back to school, he thought maybe, just maybe, it'll be okay.

* * *

End Note:

So, I've been wanting to write Dean starting high school for awhile but I've had difficulty doing so. Which is really hard to do when the last time you were in high school was...anyway, I worked with some teens this summer and was inspired. It's not much and I'm not sure if I'll go further but I needed Dean to move forward so I hope I succeeded in putting him on the road. Thanks for reading! :)


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